Sweet Surrender
by syrupjunkie
Summary: T+Y. Yukito struggles to find certainty in his life even if it means leaving everything behind. Shounen-ai. [Complete]
1. Quiver

Author's Note:  So I've drifted over to put up a T+Y fic…I guess this fulfills my angst requirement.  Besides, I hate non-endings, not knowing what happened in Touya's and Yukito's relationship in the anime, so I thought I'd tie a few loose ends up…and fill it with lots of angst too…  I don't know if everyone's seen the full anime, so there may be references to episodes you don't know about…just tell me if you don't get something and I'll be sure to explain it all in the author's notes of the next chapter.  And review?  And no flames please; if you're not open minded enough to accept shounen-ai, then don't spread that intolerance to innocent authors…actually, I'd wonder why you were reading a T+Y fic in the first place…

Dedication:  Hey **Floralmoon**; thanks for the suggestion…it's about time I do a T+Y fic… So this is for you.

Disclaimer:  Syrupjunkie fell forward with a gasp, knife protruding from his back, thick streams of blood pooling around his mouth.  With a death moan he breathed, 'I don't own CCS.'

Sweet Surrender 

Chapter 1:  Quiver

**It doesn't mean much  
It doesn't mean anything at all  
The life I've left behind me  
is a cold room  
  
**

The bow gives a satisfying twang as the feather tipped projectile imbeds itself into the padded target.  I relax my stance, my feet finding comfort in the soft grass; a sideways glance tells me I'm not alone.  Reaching behind me, soft fur brushes across my fingers, my hand closing around another arrow.  Setting the weight on my forward leg, muscles quivering in harmony with the bow, the wood creaks gently as I tug the taught string.  All that remains is the multi-coloured circled mark, the release from my fingers only a slight separation of two fingers.  A sharp vibration in the air.  Thud.  Another miss; I shake my head ruefully.  It's no use today.  

Resignedly, the bow and array of arrows find their repose at my feet, my robe loosened, wind blowing across my exposed skin.  It's cool but mildly soothing like a formless caress of fingers.  I lower myself to the damp earth waiting, fingers entwining the longer blades of grass.  As leisurely as it seems, my hair drips the labours of my intense concentration, or in today's retrospect, my unraveled focus.  A draught of cold water and I'm outwardly serene again, anticipating the casual approach of the figure standing off to my right.  He swings a backpack off his shoulders, dropping it next to me with a muffled protest. "Aren't you late for work?" 

Touya shrugs, taking a seat at my side.  "I quit; I don't need money _that_ badly."

I nod knowingly, recalling the countless hours he's taken the past few years, all for the sake of his little sister.  I'd smile if I wasn't thinking too intensely of gray things; as it is, I answer perfunctorily.  "I see.  What're you doing here?"

"Figured you'd be here."

I smile forlornly, battling that familiar invading warmth in my chest.  "It's comforting here."  You can splay your feet out on front of you, inhaling the aromatic scent of nature, as if you can throw everything else to be scattered in the wind.    Touya stares quizzically at me, questioning.  "What's wrong?"

"You haven't seemed to be yourself the last few weeks."

"Oh."  I fake genuine surprise as well as I can.  "I don't feel any different.  Just felt like escaping everything for while today, I guess."  I nervously turn the shaft of an arrow between my fingers, the smooth wood something to distract me from all the raging emotions that his presence invokes.

"Yuki…"  I squeeze my eyes shut, telling myself I won't give in as I feel his cool fingers gently rub the side of neck.  The painful pleasure is almost unbearable, the urgent need to fight myself from crumbling completely under his touch.  I think about the rigid movements of archery, willing myself to the form the words I've been dreading to tell him.  Pulling back.  "Touya?"  My skin complains as the gentle touches leave me, heated skin bared again to the indifferent breeze.  

I part my eyes open, his dark orbs staring into me, expectant curiosity overlaying his casual features.  "What?"

"I-I'm transferring universities."  Twang.  I stroke the hard leather of the quiver as he takes this in, shock subsiding under the wave of uncertainty that rims his eyes.

"Why?"  Thud.

One word, infinite excuses, innumerable explanations.  "I-I don't know."  I let my eyes slide shut as his form straightens, hefting his books, striding away with a stifled 'ja.'  Taking up the bow, I aim for the golden center, the arrow instead sticking hard into the bark of a tree standing off to the side.  I sigh; any hope of concentration dissipates.

Now that I'm alone again, the discordant thoughts return to flood my mind.  Sakura controls magical cards; I am one of her guardians.  I am two people, one magical, the second a mere shell, weaved of some intricate spell.  I am Yue not Yukito.  Touya loves Yukito; he sustained Yue.  Do dummies feel?  I feel, I think.  Are my emotions something programmed?  How easy it was just to admit I loved Touya to Sakura, underneath the fake stars of our school's maze.  I never doubted it, any of it.  I was real, kept repeating it over and over as if I actually could be anything but a false form.  A silent understanding passed between me and Touya; the exchanged glances and friendly contact deepening into something more symbolic, every brushing of hands a confession, a conduit for suppressed need.  I almost said those three damning words then, but by a fortunate twist of fate, I didn't.

It's all gone I suppose, the prospect of any relationship with Touya.  The doubts I'd been burying unearthed themselves in a relentless wave of certainty a little over a month ago.  Was my love real even if I wasn't?  No, it isn't.  I turned away from him, from his love, from the electric feel of his hands against my skin, the years of happiness that used to lay ahead of me like a shining beacon.  What's the problem?  I don't trust myself anymore.  What if my feelings were something automatic, a planned emotion, some cruel side effect of my creation?  That one day I'd wake up next to him and no longer love him, realizing that I've never had any feeling for him at all?  It was a horrifying thought; it still is.  

And now, I must go, leave him behind.  It's better to save him the heartbreak earlier than later, isn't it?  Though I still wish my time with him were longer…

____________________________________________________

Author's Notes:  Yep, first chapter done; I don't know how many chapters there are going to be…five?  As usual, I've just gotten carried away with feelings and sensations so tell me if I've gone too pretentious… I fully the realize the lemon potential for this fic but this will NOT be a lemon.  I'd embarrass myself horribly, so if anything, it'll be superficially suggestive and maybe a little lime.  


	2. Dying

Author's Notes:  Another chapter, some more angst and sad stuff…

A lot of thanks to:  **Moon Castle**, **Gil-Galad** (don't worry about sadness, I'm a sucker for happy endings…), **anjali-chan** (losing control is one of my favourites too, just behind 'slipping away' anyway), **CreatiStar** (hope you remember…maybe my sucky memory is rubbing off…), **Rhea-chan** (hehe, I'm taking archery next semester because of Yukito…=P)

Disclaimer:  A flashbulb went off, the inspector observing the dead body.  "Anyone hear anything?"  The valet replied quickly, "he said this evening, he didn't own CCS or 'Sweet surrender.'"  The inspector took a puff of his pipe.  "Yes, that _is_ suggestive…"

Sweet Surrender 

Chapter 2:  Dying

_I've crossed the last line  
From where I can't return  
Where every step I took in faith  
betrayed me  
And led me from my home_

I can't say how long I've been awake, days it seems.  The sun is rising, the orange of the sky lightening, the call of birds already like trilling, mournful music in the air.  I rub my eyes, looking about my room, a disarray of boxes and suitcases a week before, but now blurred and barren, a lonely scrap of torn paper the remnant of my haste to pack.  Today, I leave.

I rub my eyes again, sore lids pressed deep against pigmented tissue.  A bright field of coloured spots dances in my vision, something at least to distract me from the tormenting emotions poised on the edge of my consciousness, ready to pounce on me and rip me raw.  By this time tomorrow, I'll be somewhere wholly new, another bed, another life.  I roll over, sweeping away the unbidden remonstrances my conscience throws at me, defending myself against them.  I _have_ to leave.  The decision stands weak in the face of the bliss that staying would mean, but fundamentally I know I'm right; I have to believe I am.  

The beeping of the little alarm clock on my bedstand gives a futile warning ring before powering up to a shrill chime.  I listen intently as the whining voice goes higher, the demanding tone invading my mind.  I lie and listen, letting it scream; in fact, it's nice to feel my mind cringing in hurt against the alarm than feeling my heart breaking apart over and over again as each minute falls away from now and my departure.  The sun's above the horizon now, the room bathed in the beige light filtering through the curtains.  This is it.  I take a deep breath and reach for my glasses, my surroundings taking crisp lines and angles as light converges through the lenses.  I half-stumble, half-plod towards the bathroom, the tiles cold against my feet, room partly shaded as the sun slants in sharply through the single window.  Turning the hot water on, I stare a while at my reflection in the mirror.  No change, I'm the same as I was yesterday, as I was six months ago.  But inside, I know I'm not the same, not happy anymore, empty.  

Suddenly shivering, I quickly disrobe and step under the rushing nozzle, wishing for an instant that the hot water could possibly warm my insides instead of running scorchingly over my skin.  Unexpectedly, an attack of panic grips me, some kind of silent desperation welling up, wobbling my legs.  I slump against the wall, sliding down to sit under the harsh ministrations of the pounding water.  Bringing my knees to my chest, I watch blindly as the water cascades against my face, a painful stream of the hot liquid jabbing at my eyes, smearing my vision, washing the would-be tears away.

I exit the shower, not knowing how long I've been flooded over, brooding.  The towel grates against my sensitized skin, scraping and gnashing at every drying swipe I take.  I've washed away everything, hardening myself to remain emotionless, taking a lesson from my other half.  My likeness in the fogged glass thins his lips, adjusting his glasses in icy precision.  

A cursory examination of the room tells me everything's packed, the overfilled duffel bag sitting quietly next to me.  Grabbing it quickly, I stride out of the room, shutting the room as well as my memories.  All this ends today.

The hall clock chimes noon, my approach to the front door halted by an added tone, the doorbell ringing lugubriously.  I anticipate who it is, heart pounding and dying at the same time.  Dropping the bag at my feet, a force overpowers my will and draws me closer to the threshold.

Touya stands unsure in the exposed doorway, hand upheld to knock.  "Yuki…"

"Touya…"  Nothing more; I can't say anything more; what is there to say?

He hesitates momentarily, letting his arm fall to his side.  "I-I wanted to see you off."

I nod, turning my back to grab my bag and walk out with him.  A soft click echoes in the corridor, the light from outside disappearing with a quick sweep.  I tense a little, a creaking footstep behind me.  

"Yuki…"

"Hmm?"  I turn to face Touya, his unreadable eyes staring down at me.  "What is it?"

He shakes his head dolefully.  "I don't understand."

I pretend to not know what he's talking about, kneeling back down to mindlessly check over the zippers of my bag.  "Understand what?"

"Us…"  

I freeze at the word, swallowing.  "Us?  What about us?"  I ask indifferently, hoping he wouldn't catch the slight tremble in my voice.

"How we went from wherever we were to here…"  His shadow intensifies as he steps closer placing an excruciatingly light hand on my shoulder.  "Yuki…please tell me, tell me why…"

I'm not quite sure how it happens, but I'm facing him, watching him plead with me.  But what _can_ I say?  I could tell him, and he'd tell me that I was wrong, tell me that my fears were unfounded.  I know him too well; he'd succeed in convincing me not to go, persuading to let myself fall, be blissfully ignorant of anything but love.  But for how long?  How long before that piercing doubt resurfaces and I'm in hell again?  My only reaction is and can only be a stuttered, "I-I can't."

"Are you confused?  About me?"

It's funny, disturbingly funny that I'm so confused over him and yet so sure.  I nod for lack of a better response.

He give me a small smile, mirthless but understanding.  "I see…"  I don't know what he sees from my expression but he leans down, and I lift my head up; I can't help it.  If I was leaving, wasn't I allowed a parting kiss, something to remember and smile fondly at when I'm cold and desolate?

Strangely, I've never been so certain of anything as much as I am about this, no moment to second guess myself, only to feel.  And I fall.  And die at the same time.  It's soft, so soft and yielding that I want to sink.  A gentle brush of fingers rubs at the back of my neck, pulling me deeper against his lips; I willingly drown.  As he separates, I stare feverishly for a second into his eyes, clenching my jaw as I pull slowly away.  "I'll be late for the train."  I pick up my bag trying frantically to walk normally through the doorway before I find myself fixed to the spot, unable to leave him.   

"Wait, Yuki…"

I turn and glance icily at him, straining to give away nothing, nothing of the churning emotions, not the feeling of having my stomach drop out, not the bitterness burrowing through my lungs with each breath.  "Yes?"

Touya sighs a little.  "I'll be here if you change your mind."

I blink and steady my nerves.  "I won't."

He watches me for a moment, spanning what seemed like hours.  "Will you think about it?"  His voice is soft, tenderly insistent.

My reserve falters under his appeal and I reply quickly and betraying myself.  "I-I will…"  With that, I gather the remains of my strength, taking a fierce hold of the door, slamming it between us.  A barest breath enters me before I run, duffel bag swinging wildly at my side, smashing into my legs, lungs smoldering in the exertion.  Chest burning, I run, toward the station, toward uncertainty, anywhere away from destiny.

________________________________________

Author's Notes:  Isn't this depressing?  Just a few more chapter to go; think it'll be limey at the end…don't know how my mood will be though…


	3. Confrontation

Author's Notes:  So I got into a really angsty mood and thought 'hey, might as well do something productive.'  That loosely translates to 'screw my other fics, I'm writing angst.'  So yeah, this chapter's up.

Thanks to **PhoenixStAr** (wow, don't know what to say; can take compliments well), **Gil** **Galad** (bowing to Elven King), **Chained Dove**, **Tara**, **anjali-chan**.

Disclaimer:  The maid shifted uneasily under the inspector's watch.  "I swear I didn't see anything."  He didn't believe her.  "You're lying."  The red haired woman couldn't take it anymore under the hard glare, bursting into frenzied tears.  "All right, all right.  He was in the study and he told me he found a way to own CCS!"  The inspector nodded grimly, taking a puff of his pipe.  "It's all starting to become clearer."

Sweet Surrender 

Chapter 3:  Confrontation

And sweet surrender  
is all that I have to give

It's lonely to be at the top of anything.  It's a feeling that's undeniably true as I stand on the roof of my new apartment building.  I look down the dizzying heights to the people dotted sidewalk knowing that I'd never do something that drastic.  But you can't help but feel curious sometimes, wondering where you'd go if you got up the courage, if you could force yourself to rip all the ties that bound you to staying alive.  In the end, I can't find that resolve and back away, commotion street disappearing from my view, now supplanted by the concrete ledge.

The stars glimmer light, pulsing a celestial code.  Little differences.  They add up one by one until you're completely lost.  A new home, a slight difference in the angle of Tokyo Tower, a different entrance to the park, a foreign row of buildings around you.  You realize nothing's quite as familiar anymore.  But above it all is the same moon, the force that rules my other side, so much so that I want to feel it as he does.  Love me, moon.  Love me as I deserve to be loved.  When no one else will.  Expectedly, the moon hangs solemnly, unflinching, unheeding.  I turn on my heels, retreating into the black draped recesses of the building.

A mess of noodles and soup.  Dinner boiled over.  I sit to eat the remaining soup, liquid slipping into the hollow of my stomach.  Around me are open books, half written papers, a few crumpled clothes that desperately need washing.  It's been six months, half a year nearly, when I found myself gone from familiar surroundings and dropped unprepared into this apartment, into my new life.  It doesn't hurt to say it now, after all the pain has withered in the face of denial.  All the feelings have been buried, shallowly but still deep enough to be out of mind.  So now I can say it without flinching, and without knowing the temptation that a phone call away could solve it all.  Now I can say it clearly.  I'm alone.  The heady silence in the apartment testifies to that; the quiet rustle of pages as I flip through the novels and textbooks.  I used to leave the television on for distraction, maybe a substitute for company, but now I don't need it.  It lays dormant, sleeping, as Yue is, waiting for some crisis to emerge.  

I can almost laugh now, more bitterly than I should, but the move that seemingly distorted everything so much, really left my life rather unchanged.  University is university, different professors, same classes, endless work.  Part time jobs occupy some extra time, only that there is no familiar face to see when I stand behind the register.  People seem to like me, like to talk to me in long conversations that I strain to hold.  It's ironic _that;_ they like me but I don't like myself.  You don't uproot everything that you thought was foundation in your life and not realize a few things about yourself.  It's not pity anymore, the old sore that used to fester with depression, whispering in random moments that I'd be better off dead, or not created at all.  It's beyond that.  And it's beyond the anger and fury that I tried to feel the first few months here.  How could Clow do this to me?  Why couldn't I live the life that I wanted so badly?  It's beyond that now too.  It's only indifference, clear and unmitigated with emotions.  To not hurt is to not feel.  And I don't feel.  I turn to the next page, jotting down quotations and citations as I go.  At this rate, I'll be done within an hour, then desperately finding something else to occupy my time until I'm entirely spent and collapse into the oblivion of sleep.

The microwave flashed midnight, 12 o' clock.  I look at my wristwatch; it's of course, two in the morning.  Tonight is not usual, my eyes not sore and straining to stay open, that comforting exhaustion not yet here.  There's nothing else for me to do, except think, and that is one thing that I dread doing.  The pen is flat on the counter, paper marked with symbols and page numbers, book binding begging to be shut and relieved of its stress.  I jolt, the sudden buzz of the doorbell.  I sigh heavily for within me I know who's on the other side.  Touya.

You take me in  
no questions asked  
you strip away the ugliness  
that surrounds me  
are you an angel  
am I already that gone?  
  


He stands there looking strange, a ferocity in his eyes, hands clenching themselves into fists.  And for a ridiculous moment, I fear he'll attack me.  He does.  With words.

"Yuki!  What the hell is wrong with you?"

He leans heavily on the doorway, limbs almost dragging, form hunched over tiredly.  Dark lines stress his fatigue.  I catch myself before I raise a concerned hand to his shoulder.  "Why are you here?"

"You!  That's why."  He strains himself to stand up straight, glaring at me with an anger that surpasses anything I've ever known to be in him.  "Six months.  You don't make any contact with any of us.  Sakura's been worried forever, and I…"  Breaking off mid sentence, he looks up helplessly to the corridor lights.  "I was too."  The anger subsides as his atrophied strength leaves him.  "I wanted to give you time; I really did.  But you haven't answered me.  Are we anything?"

My answer is cutting, sharpened to a perfect edge.  "We're friends.  That's all."

He eyes me with a suspicion confirmed.  "You're lying.  I know you are. If you'll tell me what's wrong, we can fix it."

I look hard at him.  He's at the end of something, desperate underneath his level-headedness.  He won't leave without the answer, and yet I'm not in the mood to deal with this.  Rooted to the doorway, he waits expectantly.  Fine.  If he wants to know, he can know.  I've already promised myself I won't crumble.  I can only hope that promise doesn't abandon me.  "I'm not human.  And these feelings I have for you, I don't know if they're programmed.  Maybe one day I'll feel nothing, all that love gone.  I don't want to hurt you Touya, but I don't want to take that risk."  I mentally smirk.  I've come a long way in six months, no failing of words, no silent desperation, short and to the point.

He absorbs it all for a prolonged moment, ending with a soft grunt under his breath.  He smiles, tiredly but genuinely.  "Doesn't matter."  He pauses, the air pregnant with rebuttal but air un-vibrated as he pauses.

"And what?  We'll live like a children's book?  That we'll be guaranteed happiness, that I'll always love you?"  It wasn't intentional, but my voice had lost its rationality in the wait, spitting each word repulsed.  "Is that what you'll say?"

Touya stands strangely, staggering but ready to rush forward.  His eyes hardened again, staring at me in a thinly masked fury.  "Listen to me!"

I shake my head violently, unwilling to care, unwilling to have my carefully built decision shattered.  I don't want to hear his logic, his promises, his attempts at breaking me.  "No.  This matter is over."

He doesn't budge, voice rising over mine, half insane with frustration, hand seizing my shoulder almost painfully in its urgency.  "Yuki, shut up!  Let me talk."

I clamp my mouth shut, stunned by his outburst but relieved as the burden of explanation dissipates.  "What?"  My voice is low again, the energy of 'fight or flight' drained.  I nearly slump in the exertion, supporting myself with a hand against the doorjamb.  

He steps closer, face softening appreciably.  "I won't lie to you.  I think you're wrong.  But listen to me.  I can't guarantee we'll live happily ever after.  I can't guarantee that your feelings won't change."  Another length closes between us.  "But love is like that, relationships are like that.  We risk ourselves every time we care for someone."  He dips his head, breath steaming on my face.  "So I'm asking you.  Are you willing to take the chance?"  He adds in a whisper.  "Even if it means we don't find our happy ending?"

**_I only hope  
that I won't disappoint you  
when I'm down here  
on my knees_**

**_And sweet surrender  
is all that I have to give_**

Yes.  The first word in my mind, last on my tongue.  _Do_ I want to risk it?  This conversation's gone from one extreme to the other in little more than five minutes.  Now I'm dangling from a ledge, the cliff cracking and breaking away.  He knows my fears, he knows the consequences.  Do I want to try?  He wants to try.  After all the time I've convinced myself I was right, do I dare to consider that wasn't?  And amidst the turmoil of rationalizing and justifying, my altered reflexes have answered for me.  My hand takes his comfortingly, a small smile struggling to break from my locks and bindings.  Hesitantly, I answer.  "I can't."

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Author's Notes:  Review won't you?  Makes everything brighter and shinier if you do.


	4. Surrender

Author's Note:  This chapter originally was not in the story but was really needed.  There lacked a fluidity to the progression from the plot and perfectionist that I am, refuse to accept this.

Thanks to **anjali-chan** (I went more for the legitimacy of a false form as the theme), **CreatiStar**, **nightshadow**, **Dr Megalomania** (better call in the police).

So this is dedicated to **MorganD** whose words propelled me to make this fic better.

Disclaimer:  The inspector bent low, gloved fingers prying away burnt wood and ashes.  The coal bin threw its dirt over the marble floor, but he kept searching.  With a triumphant 'aha' he extracted a singed scrap of paper.  Slowly in his mind he read Syrupjunkie's words.  'Soon, CCS will be mine.'

Sweet Surrender 

****

Chapter 4:  Surrender

****

**_And I don't understand  
by the touch of your hand  
I would be the one to fall_**

**_I miss the little things  
I miss everything_**

I move to close the door, the hinges breaking themselves against the force of this decision.  In the end, after all that has been exchanged between us, nothing remains.  A sudden opposition meets the door, Touya pushing inward, overcoming my efforts to shut him out.  I reluctantly release my hold on the door, stepping back, the door swinging a wide arc as Touya falls into the apartment. 

He stumbles a few steps, close faced and for the most part expressionless, only the engraving of stubbornness that I know dwells within him.  "I'm not going."

I reply flatly, almost coldly.  "I can see that."  

He turns to slam the front door shut, then whipping back around to face me accusingly.  His softness falls off like a layer, fully baring the strain and frustration that peaked through moments before.  "I'm not leaving.  Not until I convince you you're wrong."

This conversation is not a new one; it's one that's been played intermittently, always in my head.  Always on the phone, always with me hanging up without hesitation.  There wasn't indecision in my scenarios, no flesh and blood Touya burning a gaze through me.  It's not the same as the disembodied voice at the end of miles of wire.  There's a rawness in the air, the knowledge of his unmincing words, the ferocity of his determination.  "But I'm not wrong."

"You are!"  He flings the words out, two words that seemed to take up the entire apartment.  

I hold stubbornly to myself, strangling the indecision that wants to flicker in my eyes.  "No, I'm not.  Touya, you need to go.  I've made up my mind.  This is something that I've decided, something that I've struggled to believe in fully, something that you can't change."

"Yes.  I will."  A deceptive tone of calmness wraps around his speech, another angle, another ploy, but with an added undertone of confidence.  "You think that everything I said in the doorway didn't matter?  That it was all lies?  You're wrong.  I believe in it.  Everyone believes in it.  I took a risk and let myself love you.  And I don't regret it…"

I interject, bitingly.  "But I do.  I regret it.  I regret falling in love with you.  I was weak and foolish and in denial.  You can say what you want, but it won't change anything.  I'm not willing to let myself take the chance.  Can't you see that it's for your own good?  This isn't something that I want to do, it's something that I have to do."

A laugh, loud and disbelieving.  His hands find themselves clamped on my shoulders again, two pinchers.  "For me?  For my own good?  What kind of denial are you in now?  I'll tell right now just to break up that fantasy in your head that this is not the best for me.  I hate loving you but not having you.  I hate the fact that we're separated by doubt of all things.  A stupid fear."

Something is slipping, something is leaving my control.  "It's not stupid.  Don't you realize what it can mean?  Years later, after we've built ourselves a life.  I wake up and there's nothing there.  You don't mean anything to me.  Everything breaks apart.  How would you feel then?"

He shakes me violently, jarringly.  "You know what'd I feel?  I'd feel devastated.  But you know what else I'd feel?  I'd feel consoled that we had those good years, instead of what we have now, this pointless uncertainty.  I don't believe for an instant that you're not human.  So what if you're made from magic?  You're real.  Our memories are real.  Our love is real, and you know it.  You're just afraid of it."

"I'm afraid of nothing!  This is my decision, and I've made it and I'm not abandoning it."

He drops his hands from my shoulders, instead pulling me against him.  A fierce hug, his arms wrapping me close, tight.  "You're lying to yourself.  You're afraid."  His face breathes near my ear, his words harsh and tantalizing.  "You're afraid that it feels right to have me close to you, to have me tell you I love you."  I pull at his grip, but am trapped in his hold.  His words are powerful, truthful.  I feel the fear and pleasure of him against me.

"Touya…I can't.  I just can't."  I wrench unsuccessfully.  "You don't know."  He doesn't know the power of this fear, the unwillingness of it to disappear.  But the more I want to keep it strong, keep it solid, it gets less substantial, brittle, childish even.  Am I lying to myself?

His chin digs into my skin, his head resting on my shoulder.  "Yuki…you're right.  I don't know.  I'm not scared of this.  I'm not reaching for excuses to give me an escape."

Reaching for excuses?  This is valid, my reasons are valid.  But the more I say it, the more he's right.  It's only an excuse.  Only an excuse.  "It's not an excuse."  How pitiful I sound, muffled against his shirt, small voice.  But I've worked too hard to prove myself right to give up.  I lift my head up, pushing us slightly apart.  "Prove to me that I'm real, Touya.  Prove to me that these emotions you say I have are mine.  If you can, I'll stop fighting you."  It sounds impossible, maybe it is, but it's what I need.

His gaze is unfoundedly determined, success certain.  "Sit down."  I obey, collapsing into the sofa, looking up at his looming figure.  "How are you?"

The question's so off base that I sputter mentally, a dozen half starts wrenching through my consciousness.  "I'm fine.  What are you doing?"

"Exactly what you asked me to do."  He takes a seat across from me, smiling in a halfhearted anxious way.  "I'm not asking if you're fine or not.  I want to know exactly how are you."

"I'm fine."  I try to stare through him, but I can't because of the intensity of his look.  We sit in silence, the change in the air from hostility to strained comfort slightly more accommodating.  

He leans forward, elbows on his knees.  "How's school?  New friends?"

Reluctantly, I let myself play his game, follow along.  "School's good.  Same classes, different teachers.  Some new friends, but mostly acquaintances, I guess."

"No clubs or sports either, I'm guessing.  You're too antisocial for your own good."

I mock scowl, stripping my face of the emotion suddenly when I notice it.  "Maybe; things haven't been the best the past few months."  

He absorbs the pointed statement, face still hidden underneath the mask of artificial good humour.  "Mine too. A lot of people miss you.  We need you to come back to finish the leftovers."

The foreign sound of laughter rings from my throat.  "What am I, a dog?"

"No, more like a garbage disposal."

"Baka."  I roll my eyes.  "It's not my fault; I'm made that way."

He laughs, taking the fact as a joke.  And I can't help but realize it _is_ rather funny.  The conversation moves on from there, his family, my jobs, work.  It's easy to forget all the drama and have it all back to normal.  Anything and everything is passed between us, digesting and rehashing each topic again and again when one of us remembers some little trivial side note we forgot.  

"You know what?"  He looks abruptly triumphant, beaming, leaning even more forward.  

I look at him skeptically, raising an eyebrow.  "What?"

"I've just proven you're real."

Face hardening, the dark cloud passing over us again like an impending storm.  "You haven't."

"Well, tell me honestly how you felt during our conversation."

A mix of emotions, sometimes glad, sometimes regretful, sometimes amused.  "Happy, sad, a lot of things.  What are you getting at?"

"I'm getting at the fact that you've changed moods and feelings randomly throughout our conversation.  You're not programmed with answers.  You let yourself react as anyone does."

True, the feelings flow one into the other, independent of thought, instinctual.  "That's hardly promising evidence."

"But you know it's true."

It is, I suppose.  But's it's also true that the clock overhead strikes four.  Simply, I just didn't have the energy to resist, not when it was something I wanted that badly.  After all this rigmarole, all this back and forth debate, after trying to live with the loneliness of having destroyed your own life, it was a chance that I was just finally ready to accept.   "I think I do."

A long, tenuous, shaky sigh, tired but victorious.  He clutches one of my hands, squeezing hard.  "Do you mean it?"

"I do."  

He gets up, sitting next to me.  I watch him lean in, sealing the deal with a kiss, as the cliché goes.  Tired of fighting and denial, I let myself drop closer to him, a fleeting touch before a yawn overtakes me.  "I'm tired."

He tugs me up, smiling softly.  "Where's your bed?"

I murmur an answer, dragging my feet in the direction of the bedroom.  Too much has happened in too little time, and I'm exhausted.  But in the end, there's certainty, not that constant need to be justified rightness when I left.  This is what I want and what I should've done in the first place.  I can barely make out my own speech but I think I tell him I love him.

________________________________________________________________________

Author's Notes:  That's it.  Nothing to fancy schmancy.  I hope this makes sense, the progression from no to yes I mean.


	5. Risk

Author's Notes:  The last little chapter.  I'm in a good mood what with school over and all so it's all go for lime content.  That's your warning.  Nothing too bad, but wouldn't want to offend would we?

Thanks to **Gil Galad**, **anjali-chan** (heh gomen; I had to change the third chapter to make the fourth right).

Disclaimer:  The inspector stalked up and down the room, meeting the gaze of all interested parties.  "I've been collecting the evidence for the past few days, and it has all been supporting my theory.  What does one think of Syrupjunkie?  A person delusional, someone bent on achieving the impossible, or the possible?"  He whirled to face Mr. Allen.  "Wasn't it possible Mr. Allen, that he could've owned CCS?  But you wouldn't allow it, couldn't allow it because your employers didn't want to lose it.  You killed him.  You killed him under with direct orders from CLAMP!"  Shocked silence.  The inspector clasped the handcuffs tight on the defeated man.  "You have the right to remain silent…"

Sweet Surrender 

Chapter 5:  Risk

The firm mattress meets my back as I land with a muffled thud.  A second exhausted thump crashes next to me.  My body willingly conforms to the mattress, covers drawn upward to wrap loosely around myself.  Too tired to move, I lull to sleep with the presence of a comfortable heat next to me, the tantalizing sensation of a being near fire, within arms length to skimming flames but remaining in the corona, safe from being singed.  But exhaustion draws me from any metaphoric endeavors, sinking into the trap of sleep.

It doesn't mean much  
it doesn't mean anything at all  
the life I left behind me  
is a cold room.

The sun's arc is high when I wake up, the blazing day coming harshly from the window.  A quick glance at the red letters of the alarm clock tells me that it's too late for classes.  I roll over, my nose skimming something featherlike.  I raise my fingers to brush away at the irritating agent, finding the digits clutching a lock of hair.  I yawn a breath, shifting away from the sun's shadow, driving myself into Touya's solid mass.  He moans a little, turning onto his side to accommodate my movement.  As far over as I am, the glare still burns my face, casting that horrible orange red haze through my sealed lids.  Annoyed, I throw the covers off, stumbling with the movement of lead limbs and half focused thoughts.  The curtains give a satisfying ripping sound as they're yanked closed, only a sliver of noon finding its way in, slicing a triangular pane on the carpet.

Another yawn meets the mattress.  I fall forward to slam hard into the pillow, a mouthful of pillow lumps and cloth.  Before I can roll over and sink myself again into the stupor of sleep, he winds an arm across my back, fingers gripping my left side.  A yank and I'm right side up, watching with bleared eyes his face loom above mine, a wobbly smile.  I murmur "Sleep…"

The same incongruous mouth lifts upward.  "I'm not sleepy," with a hoarse rest clogged voice.  He dips, running his face along mine, the contentious friction at once stifling hot yet wonderfully abrasive.  Dry rough morning mouth skims at the corners of my eye, traveling downward.

I realize with a hesitant resignation that I won't be sleeping anymore.  I blink the film away, watching his neck stretch with each pass of his face.  I test my hands, reaching down to my side and prying his gripping fingers away.  Skimming up his arms, trailing the angular bones, kneading flesh.  I lift my face upward capturing his lips with my tongue.  Like running on pebbles, licking his mouth, each pass smoothing the plane.

His eyes glow, his face pulling away slightly to chuckle.  "What was that?"

"Your lips are rough."  I crane my neck up, letting my face brush his, reciprocal movement, exploring the contours down features, gliding across skin.  Staring deeply into one of his eyes, his pupils dark against brown slivers in their bed of ink.  He blinks.  "You have fun eyes."

"Do I?"  Forehead pressed against forehead, his weight bearing me down to the pillow again, the gentle puff as the air flattens around me.  Now wet, smooth lips claim mine, pressing and yielding, spongy.  My arms wrap around his neck, falling on each side of my shoulders, his own hands reaching down the front of my frumpled shirt.   Buttons undo themselves as he shifts a little over me, my skin meeting the wrinkles in his clothes.  He breaks the kiss, planting his elbows to prop himself up, allowing his body to fully cover mine.  An intense heat passes between us.  "Do you mind?"  I let my eyes close, gritting my teeth, his knee working its way maddeningly up and down between my legs.

I tug at the bounds of my half removed shirt, pulling my arms through the sleeves, squirming underneath the onslaught of sensation.  He lifts off me, straddling on his knees, watching from his high perch.  I toss the offending article of clothing away, the warm cotton sheets sliding across my back.  Watching, he reaches down pulling at the button of my pants.  I shift my hips, allowing the layers to fall off, a final tug at my foot.  The intensity of his look captures my attention, the tension tangible, vaporous, darting between us.  Almost predatory he smiles, dropping from his knees to really straddle, his rough jeans scouring my lower stomach.  Slowly, fluidly, the sound of rocking, scalding heat spanning all senses.

I reach upwards blindly, tugging fiercely at his shirt, soon discarded.  The force of the sensations throws me deeper into the bed, my arms rubbing along his stomach, hooking themselves along the waist of his pants.  Fumbling blindly with the button and zipper, I yank, panting in frustration as they refuse to budge.  He laughs, getting up and pulling off his clothes, crawling up to watch me with darkened eyes.  It's indescribable as he descends on me, how our bodies crash against each other, how our chests rise and fall with each hard breath.  Another kiss, long intoxication, the fierce give and take.  Breathless voice in my ear.  "Do you really want to do this?"

Everything stops for a moment, a crash of jumbled nerves and half thoughts.  The hollow of his hip grinds once harshly against my arousal.  I pull upward with inhuman speed, meeting his mouth in affirmation.  Viscous cycling of excitation and pause, bodies grating against each other, quicker every time, wilder each second passing, with more meaning each uncontrollable thrust.  

Deep down under the sensations, I know this goes beyond the lust, the need, the consequence of separation.  It's unspeakable and enormous, and that fear rises up from the depths of my insides.  I find the energy to turn us over, leading my lips along a route down his throat, following a rapidly pulsing artery.  'What if' sounds somewhere in my head.  I smile as I close over one of his nipples, tasting the salt of sweat, the firmness of tensed muscles, the moans.  It's all a risk, the ultimate ante.  You play for your entire life's happiness.  I lap down his flanks, smiling at the barely perceptible quivering as I lick.  You fear that it all dissipates like a dream.  A swirl of my tongue around his navel, soft kiss.  I'm afraid, and with a clear conscience I know that it's perfectly fine.  Lower, and lower, his cracking words pleading against my slow advance, heavy with anticipation.  I can admit I'm afraid of the future, and perhaps that's what sets me free of terror, that's what makes me all the more human.  He gasps under me.

Sweet surrender  
is all that I have to give

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Author's Notes:  Ah, that's it.  Let's hope the lime didn't suck as much as I thought it did.  It's not quite my cup of tea, eh?  But it's over now.  Thanks for everyone that took the time to review.


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